


A Dream Within the Nightmare

by SquidSensei



Series: Grimm's Knight [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24775381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquidSensei/pseuds/SquidSensei
Summary: Grimm the Troupe Master has been taking part in the Nightmare Heart's ritual, as is his duty - until one little Knight shows him that despite the conditions of one's birth, liberation is possible, and hope is there.  Suddenly Grimm begins to feel himself pulled into several directions...which path will he choose?
Relationships: Grimm/The Knight (Hollow Knight)
Series: Grimm's Knight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806970
Comments: 24
Kudos: 140





	1. 205 Flowers, Minus One

Bright flashes of red.   
The metallic rattling of chains.  
An overwhelming suffocation.  
The loud pulsing of a heartbeat.

The otherworldly being woke from his trance with a gasp, his lungs welcoming in fresh air. A moment’s glance tells him he’s in his room, tucked away a short distance away from the stadium he performed in just days prior with a small ghost. The chains were silenced, and while the being himself was decorated in red as part of his aesthetic - his style - the room was surprisingly dark. And...upside down. 

Grimm the Troupe Master flapped his wings and smoothly reoriented himself, landing lightly on his feet as his wings fell around him in a stylish cape fashion. It seemed...too quiet, now that he’d awoken from his trance. Even the distant accordion was silent. What time was it? How long had he lost himself? Slowly, he pulled a hand out from beneath his cover. It was trembling.

The quiet pitter-patter of footsteps began to grow louder, and Grimm quickly snuck his hand back within his cape and stood. Being hunched over and looking forlorn was hardly any way for Grimm to greet a guest - especially if it was the guest he was expecting. Not that their meetings were usually planned, but he wouldn’t mistake those footsteps anywhere. A weird giddy sensation filled his chest. Someone was here to play with. 

The small ghost entered the room, only coming up to Grimm’s knee. Grimm’s thin thigh, if you counted the horns that protruded from the creature’s mask. Grimm wouldn’t count them. It was too pleasing to say the creature was smaller than his femur. 

“Ah, you’ve come again,” Grimm purred, his red orbs narrowing faintly as he peered at the Grimmchild that floated innocently next to the vessel. The vessel stared up at Grimm with wide, hollow eyes filled with nothing but darkness. The Troupe Master found it oddly comforting. “I see that you’ve yet to collect all of my kin. The child hungers, you know.” 

Despite Grimm’s eerie greeting and warning about the child’s hunger, the Vessel still stayed. Staring. Watching. Listening. 

“Hmm? Your audience awaits your next act, ghost. Do you intend to pull the curtain?” 

Again, no response. Nothing said, no real reaction. Now Grimm’s imaginary eyebrows furrowed. His eyes narrowed. Why did this creature come? And right after such a terrifying slumber? Did they come to mock the Troupe Master? Perhaps they wanted another dance. Grimm was about to grab the Vessel, lift it up and demand to know its purpose for existing in the private quarters of the Troupe Master, when suddenly, something happened. 

Before Grimm could lash out in his confusion, the ghost stepped forward and tugged on his cape, lifting up a thin, pale flower. It reflected light like the moon, and appeared so weak that merely holding it up seemed to make the petals tremble in fear. Grimm’s eyes were now wide, as he stared at the flower, and glanced to the Vessel before him. Did...he dare touch it? Would it not snap within his grasp? 

Grimm hesitantly reached out, his slender fingers taking it by the stem. The ghost’s hand pulled away, and Grimm’s hand slowly moved the flower up towards his face. Where had the ghost found such a plant? And why had they thought to bring it here, of all places? A circus tent stained red with sin housing such an innocent plant? Grimm could hardly conceive it. 

“Such a weak, fragile plant is wasted on this troupe,” Grimm finally said. It was strange, something pulled him to say such cruel words. He wasn’t sure what else to say, and so they spilled out. “Be gone, ghost, and do not waste my time with such nonsense again.” With that, Grimm crushed the flower to dust in his hand and sprinkled it onto the floor in front of the ghost, who merely watched the sediment pile on the floor. Before Grimm had a chance to see any type of honest reaction, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

The smoke dissipated within the room, but Grimm stood atop the tent. It was a meager party trick, something easily done by someone of his caliber. The tiny pitter patter of small feet began to sound, and shortly after the Vessel appeared out of the tent. They paused before moving towards the inner city of Dirtmouth. Grimm’s eyes narrowed. This was just another place, after all. Another stop on their journey, another fallen kingdom to harvest. He needn’t concern himself with something so mundane.

However, the mundane happenings continued.

Every day after the first, the Vessel would arrive with another small, pale, fragile flower. Every day, Grimm was confronted with this small token of beauty so frail that it turned to dust in his hand. He began to become fond of the little ghost, though his nightmarish tendencies, this curse of the troupe refused to allow him to keep the memento. Dust, dust, and more dust. Despite the frailty of the flower, it was harder and harder to crumble each time. 

The vessel must have come hundreds of times - 204, but Grimm wasn’t counting - but on his 205th visit, the Vessel was absent. Grimm waited until dusk within the confines of his room. Finally, the softest of sighs escaped him. 

“Brumm, come in here and clean this mess up.” 

The Troupe Master stepped up onto the platform near the end of his bed and stared down at the ashen remains of 204 pale flowers. His room was akin to a sandbox at this point. In the distance, the accordion music slowed to a halt, and heavy footsteps approached before Brumm poked his face into the room while holding a broom. 

“You should really learn to dust, Master.” 

“And you should learn to play the accordion. Yet I do not restrain your creative tendencies. Clean.” 

Brumm hurriedly moved inside, and Grimm watched as the evidence of 204 visits was quickly swept away. As Brumm finished up, Grimm sat on the platform, mildly hunched over. Perhaps he missed performing. When would the ghost return with the completed Grimmchild? Then the troupe could move on to the next town, start anew - including a new troupe master. The idea of dying was somewhat unsettling, but something in him had peace in knowing he would be doing so to complete the Nightmare Heart’s ritual. Still, it didn’t feel quite right…

“It’s been a while since that little fellow came by,” Brumm hummed quietly, moving the ashes into a dustpan made of thick leaves bordered by twigs. “He’s probably dealing with the infection. That’s what the word is, anyway. Not that you’re interested - “

“They’re doing what?” The words escaped Grimm with almost a sort of panic. He was normally so composed, so graceful. It was weird for him to show such concern, and over a ghost no less!

“The...infection. It’s begun to spread, Master. I heard someone talking about the Temple of the Black Egg, but - “ 

“I’ll be going out,” Grimm said, promptly stepping down from his platform and pridefully strolling out of the circus tent. “And, by the way Brumm, do feed the Grimmsteeds while I’m away.” 

With a suave flourish of his wings, Grimm stepped out of the tent emitting an air of confidence, pride, and complete composure…

… and then he bolted for the well.


	2. Reunion

His feet couldn’t move nearly as fast as he wanted to go. Despite the ground pounding beneath him, the well seemed to be infinitely farther away than he would’ve liked. He could feel the Elderbug’s eyes on him as he ran, and Zote’s grumbling was merely static noise to him. 

_They can’t be gone. They can’t be in that kind of a fight on their own. What are they thinking? Are they insane? Of course they are, no one else would bring me 204 - not that I’m counting - flowers consecutively. It’s madness. The ghost has gone mad. Absolutely mad._

Despite his complaints the troupe master leapt over the stone wall of the well. He fell for quite a while before he permitted his wings to flap, slowing his descent. He landed lightly on his feet, and when he was finally able to look at his surroundings, he gasped. 

The entirety of the Forgotten Crossroads - the first area beneath Dirtmouth that had been long, well, forgotten, was now tinged with an ugly orange hue. It was bright, smelled foul, and clashed with Grimm’s color scheme. Clearly this tangerine-tinted mist was the clear manifestation of evil. Or, perhaps it was the ‘infection’ that Brumm had mentioned. 

Grimm gingerly stepped onto the stone that formed the flooring of this decrepit area. It’d seen so much travel that he tried not to think about how filthy it was - or how filthy this bright aura was. Still, he’d been expecting a visit, and his guest was late. All he was doing was retrieving said guest. Yes, that was all.

The troupe master tried his best to pretend that the bulging orange pods of infection were nonexistent. When they appeared on the ground, he stepped over them gingerly. He seemed to have this entire ‘avoiding’ thing down pat when he finally saw something sluggishly making its way towards him in the distance. Grimm’s eyes narrowed. What _was_ that?

A small round creature, with what appeared to be a hard shell with a soft underbelly, two thin arms, and two thin legs, was currently moving towards him at a shockingly slow pace. Something about its walk seemed to be exhausting - like a waterbug lost in the desert. Miserable. Lost. Hopeless. 

Grimm was almost feeling pity for the creature when he spotted a bulbous patch of infection on its head and down its back. What a disgusting creature.  
Grimm had no sooner had the thought than the small bug looked up, its irises tainted with the orange coloring that seemed to match the environment. In a quick burst of energy, as if this being had found its new purpose, it ran at Grimm with impressive speed. 

This did not offset the troupe master. He simply leapt up and darted down diagonally, landing where the creature had been before it began its sad attempt at assault. Behind him, as the creature ran into the space where the elusive Grimm had been, was a strange explosion. 

“...I don’t have time to ask.” 

Grimm dismissed the oddly explosive insect and continued. There were a few other disturbances - shrieking flying insects, thin ones that enjoyed jumping - but Grimm dealt with them swiftly. He wasn’t the troupe master for nothing, after all. The path became a bit more overgrown as he went, with more and more weeds popping out from between the cracks in the stone path. Finally, the tunnel seemed to open a bit wider, and Grimm was able to make out a building. 

The Temple of the Black Egg was larger and more magnificent than Grimm liked to admit. The exterior was smooth, save for the area near the front entrance where the material seemed to be crumbling. Two large arched windows stood on either side of the door, giving the building the appearance of a bug with two eyes - currently tinged with a deep orange - and a mouth, the entrance, that was leaking out that orange. Near the top of the temple several horns protruded from the building, similar to the horns on the little ghost’s mask. 

As he approached, however, there stood a young girl, dressed in pink, with a needle at her side. She quickly spun, aiming her needle at the troupe master. It flew above his head while he crouched, but in the second of movement, he could tell it would have pierced his center. Grimm shot forward, gliding across the ground slick with affliction and gripped the girl by her throat, his momentum carrying him to the building. Her body smacked into the building with a solid noise, sending crumbs of building material dancing down the side of the building on their way to the ground. 

“I don’t mean to be so rough, my dear,” Grimm purred, leaning in closely to gain a look at the girl. “I simply need to know if you’ve seen - “ he began, but it was interrupted by a needle smacking against his side. The shock caused him to lose his grip, and the bug was able to escape. 

“I will defend this Temple to my grave, just as my mother did,” the girl growled, and flung three small devices from her hand. Remarkably, the suspended in air, and small barbs protruded after a moment of arming time. Grimm, in a moment of surprise, nearly neglected to dodge one of the devices. 

“Daughter of a Dreamer,” Grimm said quietly. The two had entered somewhat of a standoff, with the warrior girl guarding the entrance to the temple, and Grimm across from her, the space in between them filled with barbed balls. He’d heard of the Dreamers, he’d learned as much as he could before actually coming to reap this kingdom’s residual flames. However, he’d only recalled one of them having birthed a child. “You speak of Herrah, do you not?”

Across from him, the girl seemed to stiffen. She held her needle horizontally, out from her chest, as if guarding against something he might say. “My name is Hornet.”  
Grimm gave a dismissive wave. 

“I could not care less about the Dreamers nor their agenda. I care that the Vessel is inside that temple at this moment.” Grimm’s words were cold, matter-of-fact, and precise. “Let me pass.”

“I can not,” Hornet replied, sliding a foot behind her and bending her knees, as if preparing for another fight. “The ghost is inside, and is here to save Hallownest. They will save our people from this relentless light, and put them to rest.” Her hands gripped the needle a little tighter. “This is for the best.” 

Grimm stared blankly at the arachnid princess. Was it even worth speaking to her? She was an obstacle, and a skilled one, at that. Fighting her might be more difficult than trying to persuade her. She seemed conflicted as it was, given her grip on the needle. 

“You can not expect one being to relieve an entire kingdom of its burdens. That was the mistake the Wyrm made.” Grimm’s voice had dipped in tone. It was low, dark, honest. “Surely you will tell me that you will not follow in his footsteps?”

“This is different,” Hornet cried. “They’ll be able to shoulder these burdens! It’s what they were born for!” 

“And what if they don't?” Grimm’s voice was almost eerie. It brought up a scenario that Hornet hadn’t thought of. She’d been here, defending the remnants of Hallownest - no, defending her mother’s _legacy_ , and he’d pointed out a potential flaw. Her hands trembled on the needle as Grimm stepped forward, slowly moving one of the barbed obstacles out of the way with the back of his hand. 

“What if they shoulder your burden, and crack, just like the Hollow Knight, your highness?” His eyes narrowed at those last two words. This was no royalty he spoke with, this was a scared little girl hiding behind a needle. He took another step, moved another of the barbs. “Everything will crumble, just as before.” 

Wait, this wasn’t his focus. His focus wasn’t to torment some small girl. He needed to get into the Temple, needed to find the knight, and get his gods damned flower back. Yet, even now, he could feel something within him gaining some enjoyment out of this - out of watching her tremble, out of watching her strain with the pressure of making a decision that could either rejuvenate or utterly decimate the kingdom she loved. He did his best to push that back. 

“The Hollow Knight did this alone, and you can see it has failed. I intend to help the Vessel, and ensure success.” Grimm narrowed his eyes briefly. “It will truly be a performance, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Across from him, Hornet seemed to find her resolve. She twirled her needle before sticking it into the ground and raising her head. “And what interest do you have in saving Hallownest? You are a visitor, and your tent reeks of death and destruction.” Another flip of her needle and it was poised to defend once more. 

_Brat._

The word flicked across Grimm’s thoughts for only a moment before he released a soft sigh. “Let us just say that the Vessel owes me an item. I have no interest in saving your forgotten kingdom, but I _do_ have interest in if the Vessel fails. Does that spell it out for you?” 

Their eyes locked. For a moment, Grimm thought this young warrior would oppose him, still. However, she finally lowered her needle. 

“Should you show your true colors, Demon, I will strike you down. Do not doubt that.” Hornet said those words with a strong conviction before stepping to the side. She turned her head towards the entrance. “The infection is too strong past here. It will corrode any who possess dreams, ambitions, emotions - just as it has done to the previous citizens of Hallownest, similar to those you might have seen on your way here.” 

Grimm briefly recalled the beings smothered in orange fluid sacks on his way to the temple. He wasn’t fond of them in the least, and even less fond of becoming one. Perhaps the Nightmare Heart offered some sort of protection against whatever corruption this substance was performing. Perhaps he would be immune - he had no dreams, only nightmares, and his only purpose in life was to die for the Nightmare Heart. Emotions? He had them, he supposed. But one out of three isn’t too bad. He stepped forward. 

“Did you listen?” Hornet growled as he moved next to her in the doorway. “You’ll become like those you fought to get here. Mindless, hostile. Is that truly how you wish to exist?” 

“My existence is bleak enough as it is,” Grimm replied. “But regardless, I have no intention of submitting to this... _thing_.” As he said his last word, Grimm gestured vaguely at the orange hue oozing out from the temple. “Do as you please, princess. The stage awaits me.” 

Grimm stepped past a disgruntled Hornet, leaving her grumbling about his disregard for serious danger. Perhaps she was more concerned that he would turn on her after losing his sense of self. That was fair, he was quite the threat. 

As the troupe master moved inside, things became hazy. It was difficult to see, and the stench was horrendous. It was as if he’d been placed inside of a carton of rotting eggs. Still, he moved forward, until he saw what appeared to be a large egg. He hadn’t seen it before, but an entrance way seemed to have appeared to a once-closed relic. The orange mist seemed to grow thicker down the entrance, and Grimm followed the way inside. 

The hallway within was unlit, leaving the troupe master in darkness, though he knew full well he was deeply embraced by the tangerine infection. He pressed forward, though his mind began to grow distant, his thoughts seeming to echo off of the inside of his head. 

_Where is this runt? They couldn’t have come much farther. They wouldn’t survive.  
Do you care?  
Who is that? _

The sound of a rhythmic, low heartbeat began to sound within his body. He could hear it, and, perhaps most disturbingly, he could _feel_ it. And, in rhythm to his heart beat, it could feel something pulling him back. It was as if he were a dog being pulled on a leash. 

_I’m going._  
_Return to the tent._  
_They have the Grimmchild._

The conversation occurring within his consciousness was something that disturbed Grimm, but not something he thought would be unexpected. He dared to put his own body - in a way, the Troupe’s vessel - in danger. Of course he would be pulled back by his destiny. However, at the mention of the Grimmchild, the pull released, and Grimm staggered forward. It made him realize just how hard he’d been pulling against that leash. Why? Why did it matter so much to him? 

As he took his next step, a pale light shone on the floor and walls, creating a sort of doorway of light. He disregarded the theatrics and continued. He’d seen his fair share of light shows. He had much more important things to tend to, things that needed his immediate attention. Like a small ghost that was late for a delivery. 

Walking had become easier since he’d informed this other half of him that the Grimmchild was in danger as well. The leash had been removed, but still, the orange mist left Grimm in a sort of haze. He moved a hand up and rubbed his eyes before pressing forward. The further he went, the more pale light doorways there were. They seemingly lit up every other step, until there was a bench. The troupe master finally took a seat to regain his breath. 

It was as if he were walking on top of a mountain, where the air was thin. Here, the infection was thick, causing difficulty simply existing. No wonder the princess had refused to enter. If it was giving Grimm this much trouble, he couldn’t imagine what it would be doing to any other insect. He took one last deep breath and pushed away from the bench, erecting his vertebrae and walking forward in traditional Grimm fashion. He couldn’t be seen doubled over, gasping for breath. Not by the Vessel. He would rather die, first. 

A howl reverberated through the walls, something lasting so long and so loud that it sent a shudder through the troupe master involuntarily. Despite how proud his posture was, despite how firm he’d steeled his nerves, this was a shriek so intimidating it even made Grimm halt with fear. Just _what_ was behind these walls…? Then, it struck him. 

Whatever was behind these walls...the knight was with it. 

Suddenly, Grimm’s legs began to move from their frightened spot. They glided against the stone, the orange haze seeming to separate for him like an ocean for a saint. Whatever was behind this curtain of disease, it was threatening something of value to him. 

Grimm would not let that threat come to fruition. 

In the distance, he could hear the clanging of metal on metal, the sloshing of liquid, and the screeches of some otherworldly monster. Some beast not native to this land, or perhaps some creature devoid of all bugmanity. Either way, Grimm knew that it was not to be trifled with. And the metal-on-metal noises could only mean one thing. 

The Vessel had beaten him here, and was confronting this evil on their own. 

Grimm suddenly burst forward in a mild sprint, through the densest of the fog. It acted as a curtain, spitting Grimm out on the other side, which was nearly clear of the substance. The air was almost...clean. Yet, the ground was decorated with...with... _ooze_. And in front of him was - 

Grimm ducked to the left and lunged forward just in time to miss a swinging nail from a lost individual. He could tell, by the glimpse of bright orange from its eye sockets. As the troupe master had lunged forward, he noticed a small white blur moving past him, _towards_ the monstrosity. Grimm turned in surprise, only to hear the clink as a nail that was supposed to hit the troupe master was parried by the Vessel’s. They were here, they were fighting. They were alive, and, most importantly, they appeared to be holding their own just fine. 

While the idea crossed Grimm’s mind that perhaps he should have just left the Vessel here to do their business, he could feel something ignite within him. Perhaps it was the flames the ghost had delivered him, or perhaps it was something more. Regardless, he felt compelled to fight. Compelled to show this threat that it had no business interrupting Grimm’s flower delivery. 

The troupe master assumed his position stage left, and opened his cape. Fiery manifestations in the form of winged beasts emerged, flying full speed at the duo currently engaged in battle. The Vessel appeared to have better perception than Grimm had thought. They ducked back, momentarily retreating as the creature swung into the magical formations, which burned at his wings and skin, causing another howl in both rage and anger. 

Grimm lunged forward past the Vessel, landing a punch directly into his enemy’s gut - though something was unsettling. It was... _wet_. Punching this creature in the stomach felt like punching a water balloon. Despite his sudden disgust, the troupe master then followed up with his uppercut, throwing the guardian into the sky. Behind him, he heard the flapping of wings as his ally, his knight, went in for another strike. Grimm vanished in thin air, appearing back at stage left. What wonderful teamwork. What an amazing dance. They needed something else, something flashier, something to wrap things up…

Grimm leapt into the air, suspended by the power of the flames he’d engulfed for the ritual. He held his head high as small weeds in the ground began to twitch with excitement. In front of him, the Vessel and the abomination were locked in combat. There was the occasional clink of nails against one another, and the occasional growl of the monster in pain. The weeds in the ground finally sprung upwards, covered in thorns, just as the Vessel dashed across the room midair, right into Grimm. The troupe master hid his surprise, and would never admit that he might have enjoyed the small being clinging to his cloak, but placed a hand around the Vessel’s back to ensure that they would not fall. 

In front of the duo, the thorns pierced the creature, skewering it from all angles. Grimm had thought it done for - though once more, once the thorny vines had retracted, it stood up, staggering towards them, as if fueled by some insatiable desire to kill. Grimm’s grip on the Vessel tightened, and just as Grimm was about to open his cloak and summon more of his beasts, there was a tiny _clink_ as something metal struck into the stone wall above them. 

It was a needle.

No less than a moment later, Hornet flew in on her thread, landing on the abomination’s back. Before it had enough time to react, the princess had entangled it, and now had it by its horns, rearing it back for the Vessel to deliver the final blow. 

By this time, Grimm had lowered to the ground, and the Vessel approached the being. It growled, snarled, howled in desperation, rage, and hunger. It had been completely corrupted by the infection. It was lost. Grimm watched as the Vessel bent its knees and removed an ethereal nail, one that seemed to be iridescent and different from the nail they’d used to fight only moments earlier. They were...charging the nail. Grimm’s eyes widened. For some reason, he feared what would happen next. As the leash pulled taut against his will the master of the troupe lunged forward and just as the nail made contact with the embodiment of infection, so too did Grimm’s hand with the Vessel’s shoulder. 

There was a flash of light, and suddenly, the leash was much, much tighter.


	3. The Grimm Finale

The dream realm was a place that was normally calm. It housed the desires and fantasies of those sleeping in the material realm while also serving as a place of eternal rest. It was a truly wondrous place, usually in the most tranquil of areas, with fluffy clouds and ornate platforms and a calmness in the air that soothed even the most lively of souls. 

However, as Grimm followed the Vessel into the dream realm, he felt a yank on his neck and the rattling of chains became ever louder. He staggered, his upper body leaning back while his neck and arms went lax for a moment. Suddenly, his body lurched forward. All were movements that Grimm did not conduct. 

Grimm suddenly felt as if he’d been bound in chains, strung upside down. It was as if his consciousness had forcibly been put to rest, though the troupe master refused to slumber. He’d only felt this within his dreams, his nightmares, and now he’d become the very thing that terrified him. The sound of a pulse was loud in his mind, and he could almost hear the sound of blood pumping, rushing to its destination, wherever that may be. 

Outside of Grimm’s consciousness, his body had taken on a devilish scarlet hue. It was strange, how the red had started from his chest and seemed to bleed through the rest of his existence, changing him entirely. Grimm watched helplessly from his chains as the Vessel stared at his new form. What were they thinking? Were they fearful? Surprised? 

The Nightmare King screeched, a high-pitched howl that rivaled the infected guardian within the Black Egg. This scream was not Grimm’s, nor did he will it to be. He struggled within his chains as his body rushed forward with murderous intent towards the knight, but the ghost was quick to dash right by him. It took the Nightmare King a moment to recover, and he vanished in a thin cloud of red smoke before appearing stage right. 

The cape opened, and new fiery beings emerged from his cloak, flying towards the Vessel at alarming speeds, far faster than they’d flown at the guardian. Grimm’s eyes grew wide as his own consciousness was filled with anxiety. They couldn’t hit. They can’t. The Vessel...had to stay safe. 

To Grimm’s relief the ghost seemed to be incredibly agile. They ducked and dodged, and ran forward, smacking their nail against the scarlet troupe master. As soon as contact was made, the Nightmare King disappeared in a puff of smoke and reappeared in the air, suspended by pure malice. The Vessel ran forward, although something made them stop. Similarly, the Nightmare King seemed to have halted as well, and as he turned his head, Grimm was able to see what had halted the lethal dance. 

Behind them, a large pale creature arose. Its neck, chest, and abdomen appeared to be made of some sort of fuzz or feathers, and it had great wings that spanned the length of the stage. Atop its head was a strange halo of sorts, or perhaps a crown. It appeared to be … a moth? However, something else made Grimm shudder in his chains. 

Its eyes. They were orange. 

Grimm hadn’t seen anything so large, let alone it being infected. What was stranger still was that it seemed to lack the mindless actions of other infected insects. As it rose into view, its tangerine gaze hovered over the Nightmare King, and then moved to the Vessel. Upon seeing the small ghost, its eyes grew bright with an almost white light, and beams emitted from its gaze in several directions. The Nightmare king did not budge, but one of the beams did appear to singe his cape. In response, another shriek escaped lips that were not Grimm’s. 

Grimm’s eyes widened as he saw, through the eyes of the Nightmare King, a beautiful ethereal flame centered in the chest of this large, magnificent body of infection. While he was uncertain what such a flame was doing there - after all, they were normally guarded by his kin - he imagined none of them had been able to cross the threshold into this realm. This … this was the flame of a fallen civilization, and a large one, at that. Its history burned brightly, tantalizingly so. Without another moment of hesitation, his body leapt forward at the creature. Even from his binds, Grimm could feel the thirst that the Nightmare Heart had for such a flame. 

The giant moth fixed its diseased gaze on the Nightmare King, and above its head, the crown spun. Spikes from the peaks of the crown ejected, though the Nightmare King was far more elusive. Puffs of smoke, left and right as he shot forward, dancing in between the projectiles. Within his consciousness, Grimm could feel his chest tighten. 

If the Nightmare King were to gain hold of such a large flame … 

There would be no need for him anymore. 

The ritual would be complete, the Grimmchild would take his place as the master of the troupe. He would be consumed by the Heart. That would be the end of his miserable existence. The idea was something Grimm should have expected, but it filled him with anxiety. He couldn’t leave, not yet. He’d just been beginning to enjoy himself in his troupe, here in Dirtmouth. 

The Nightmare King had managed to land a fiery punch into the moth, though it merely retaliated with a rough flap of its wings, blowing the Nightmare King back to the platform. Grimm watched as his body gracefully landed in a crouched position, and readied to get back to its feet and attack.

_No._

Within the confines of his mind, Grimm struggled. The rattling of the chains grew louder, the pulsing of the heart grew more present. Outside, the Vessel stood, watching the ongoing fight in their companion. The Nightmare King clutched at its head, a loud screech sounding off as a fight for control ensued. 

_Submit! It is the reason for your birth!_  
_I won’t! I can’t die, not while they’re still in danger!_

The shock in both Grimm and the Nightmare King was palpable. The two of them were so shocked, in fact, that they hadn’t heard the clinking noises. The Vessel, ever since the scream, had moved in front of the troupe master and begun deflecting attacks. Their nail moved with shocking speed, bouncing sharp projectiles off its spiraled surface. Finally, however, the moment came when a beam of light began to charge in the moth’s gaze. And it was aimed right at the duo. The Vessel grabbed the Nightmare King’s cloak and began to try and pull, but they lacked the brute strength to move an entire being. Time was running out.

Grimm took advantage of the shock.

In that moment he broke free of his chains, and drowned out the pounding of the Heart. Though he was still stained red with the sins of the Heart, he momentarily had control. Grimm lunged forward, scooping up the knight into his arms like a child or some small cat-like thing, and fell into a _very_ ungraceful somersault - that landed them out of harm’s way. For a moment, Grimm looked at the Vessel that was now seated in his lap. How could something so small do so much…? 

The Vessel promptly got to their feet and dusted off their wings. In the distance, the moth’s presence hung ever so heavily in the air. They turned back to the troupe master, and with a small little _plop_ , rested their hand on Grimm’s. It slowly moved back and forth in a strange soothing motion Grimm hadn’t felt before. He was incredibly perplexed, and might have lost himself in his own thoughts more so if there wasn’t a loud noise of contact next to him as the Vessel, one-handed, without looking, parried a crown projectile. The movement slowed, and the knight shifted its head, now looking at the moth instead of their comrade. They jumped, leapt into the air, and their wings unfurled, allowing them to combat the god on its own turf. 

Grimm was left on the platform, his long legs sprawled in front of him. 

That moment of silence was dangerous. 

Suddenly the pulsing grew louder, the heartbeat, the chains, and once again Grimm could feel he was losing his sense of self. His hands held the sides of his face as if to try and stop himself from splitting apart. 

_You were born to die. Give up._

Grimm couldn’t.

He couldn’t release this life, not when someone else was trying so hard to protect it. Throwing it away would be an insult. More insulting than disintegrating 204 flowers. It was weak, pathetic, disgraceful if he gave in to those chains again. However, standing against the Nightmare Heart was something that had never been done before. It was something that he wasn’t sure he had the strength to do. However, looking up at the Vessel, watching such a small creature attempt to fight such a horrifyingly divine being...perhaps he could make it work. 

Grimm, despite his side-splitting headache, despite the rattling of chains and the loud sound of blood pumping, he got to his feet. Despite the voice that did not belong to him yelling for him to submit, to retrieve the flame and continue the ritual, he looked to the infectious deity. This power was his to control, and no one would tell him otherwise. 

Grimm teleported, right above the moth, and almost simultaneously, he felt the chains snap.

His cloak ballooned and formed thorns, and balls of fire began to spread out from the center. Balls of fiery light moved to the target, slamming into its feathery existence. The creature seemed to make no noise of anger or pain, but flapped its wings again, sending Grimm off balance. However, as he fell through the air, he noticed something. 

The Vessel was missing. 

And, in their place, was a strange sea of black ink below the platform. It squirmed and wrestled amongst itself, but it definitely seemed to be growing. Grimm felt his hands clench. Had it absorbed the knight? That was impossible. The knight had been so strong, so… _perfect_. They couldn’t possibly have disappeared into a slow-moving sea of darkness. But they were gone.

His chest suddenly felt tense. The pumping of the Nightmare Heart stopped, and Grimm turned midfall to look at the source of what could possibly be a tragedy. 

“It’s you,” he growled. “You’re the reason they wanted to come here. You put on this gaudy performance, and have destroyed your dance partner.” 

At this point, Grimm could feel a strange stinging sensation behind his eyes. 

“I will resume your little _dance_ you pathetic pest.” 

After those words, Nightmare King Grimm launched himself forward, slamming a flaming fist into the feathery exterior of the radiant being before gliding up and disappearing. He appeared stage right, and, with a flap of his cape, a swarm of fiery beasts emerged, each one colliding with the diseased deity and burning her surface. 

The moth glared at him, her bright gaze penetrating. The intensity was something that shook Grimm, though he suddenly teleported to the other side, just as a beam of light began to shine from her gaze. It spread across several directions, and Grimm struggled to teleport quickly enough. Finally, however, she closed her eyes, and he glanced down at the sea. It was rising. 

His final trick, the same that had worked on the guardian, was due. 

Nightmare King Grimm held up his hand, as if to present a grand finale, and, to his surprise, the thorny vines that shot out of the ground were…black? They seemed to pierce the moth, and despite the deity’s attempts to flap its wings, they were trapped. The black ooze began to move, to crawl, and then to separate from the thorny vines. Suddenly there were several black beings floating around this abomination. And they did not look peaceful.

In a single moment, they all attached. 

They attached and began to pull, dragging this celestial being into what looked like a dark abyss. They pulled and pulled, and the bright light that was emitted from the deity suddenly seemed to have gone out. Grimm lowered himself until his feet gently touched the platform, watching as several small beings took down something so large. 

Then, he heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet. 

One of the small abyssal beings, one of the ones that had taken down the infected god. They emerged from their siblings, wandering towards the Nightmare King. Instead of a neat cape of wings, this one had a wild, unkempt bottom to it, and while their entire body was black, their eyes were starkly white. The top of its head had tiny horns. They looked familiar. 

Grimm adjusted his stance. He’d been standing proudly up until now, but the small creature’s approach made him take a knee. He held out a hand, beckoning them closer, and closer they came. 

“Do I know you, child?” Grimm’s words were quiet, tentative, but almost hopeful. 

The being did not necessarily nod, but lowered its head, almost sadly. Grimm became aware of the sound of low rushing wind near the child. 

“I believe I do,” Grimm said, answering his own question and reaching out a hand to touch their chin, lightly lifting it up with his middle and index fingers, slender and delicate. The horns, the small footsteps, the endless gaze...it was the knight. 

The Vessel gazed back, but Grimm couldn’t shake off this feeling of sadness. Their arms came up and held the hand that caressed their chin, and while Grimm was beginning to feel unsettled at just how open he’d been, he couldn’t bring himself to rip his hand away now. The knight’s head tilted into Grimm’s scarlet palm, and the Nightmare King sighed. 

He brought his other arm around the Vessel, bringing them in and holding them closely. It was a hug, or something, Brumm had told him about once. He’d rejected the idea at the time, but now that he had someone he wanted to keep close to him, the idea wasn’t too awful to consider. 

The knight made no noise, other than the soft rushing of wind, and the two sat together in a strange sort of peaceful silence for what felt like seconds, but was actually minutes. 

This peace was only disturbed by several other sounds of howling wind, which caused Grimm to look up, all while cradling the Vessel in his arm. 

Before him were several more, just like the one he held. They all had varying lengths of ethereal capes, and different eye shapes, some were tall and others short. One in particular seemed tall, and it reminded Grimm briefly of the abominable guardian they’d fought in the Black Egg. This one stepped forward, and the sound of rushing wind grew a bit louder, then died down, and changed variations. It was almost as if it was speaking in a language Grimm was uncertain of. 

At the sound of the rushing wind, the Vessel looked up to Grimm, and brought up a tiny hand, patting his cheek. Grimm quickly caught on to what was occurring. The Vessel, his knight, was...one of them. They’d always had a white mask on, a helmet of sorts, but they’d never been a full insect. They belonged to this world, the world of the abyss. And...these were their kind, and they were waiting for them. 

No. This was the reason Grimm was able to break free of his chains. The Vessel was a shining example of defying your destiny! Despite Hornet’s warning, despite the knight being expected to shoulder the sins of Hallownest, they had prevailed, and they were free. Did the knight not wish to spend their time with Grimm? Would they not continue their travels? Would the flower deliveries cease? Suddenly, all the uncertainty began to make Grimm tremble. From their cradle in the Nightmare King’s arm, the Vessel looked up, like a child waiting on a decision. 

Grimm hesitated, and finally leaned down, resting the knight on their own two feet. Grimm had made his decision - to follow the Vessel into this chamber and to guarantee their survival. He had no right to decide what the knight would be doing next. He could hope, but one glance at the lonely faces of their siblings told Grimm all he needed to know. Below him, the Vessel looked up to the Nightmare King for a moment before turning and moving towards the larger sibling. 

Grimm turned around. He couldn’t bear to watch himself be left. He would be alone - unwelcome in Dirtmouth, unwelcome in the troupe, unwelcome by the Heart...utterly, completely alone. With a wave of his hand, a door to the material plane opened, outlined in flames. He could see Hornet outside, sitting next to the sleeping monster she’d ensnared. There didn’t appear to be any more infection, either. The room seemed clean, from what he could see. Good for the Vessel. They’d done their part. The act was finished. 

The Nightmare King moved to take a step, but was stopped by a tug on his cloak. 

He turned, only to see the Vessel at his feet, looking up at him with their usual blank expression. Grimm looked up to see that the sea of ink was fading, dying down, leaving. 

“You’re going to miss them,” Grimm said solemnly. “They’re leaving you behind.” 

Still, the small grasp on his cloak remained, and the Vessel rifled in his shadow form for a moment before removing an item that made Grimm’s eyes widen. 

It was the 205th flower.  
A small, fragile, pale blossom that should have in no way, shape, or form survived the series of battles this creature had endured. Yet here it was, in the Vessel’s hand, being presented to Grimm, the Nightmare King. The troupe master felt a sharp stinging sensation behind his eyes again, and his time smacked the palm of his hand against his face. 

“...Where is your helmet?” The words were quiet, but there was a hint of a smile behind Grimm’s hand. In front of him, the Vessel waved the flower more urgently, and Grimm took it with his free hand. The knight, now having their hand free (the other refused to release its hold on Grimm’s cloak) rifled through its abyssal mass once more and produced a cracked helmet. 

Grimm snatched the helmet with the hand that had been covering his face, and put it on the Vessel’s head. Backwards. On purpose. 

“I refuse to let you see me right now,” Grimm muttered. The Vessel waved their free hand in a sign of faux distress. They could not see. Grimm didn’t seem to care. “If you can’t see, I’ll need to carry you.” The troupe master scooped up the knight in the arm that did not hold the flower, and turned towards the portal. “We’ll be going home now, so rest.” 

The Vessel stopped struggling and settled for cuddling into the chest of the one carrying them. 

Grim turned once more to glance at the platform, and the receding sea of darkness. 

“End scene.” 

His words were quiet before he stepped through the portal to the material realm, leaving his nightmare behind in order to begin his dream.


End file.
